


a crows eye

by Siff



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Imprisonment, Other, Whumptober 2020, he likes shiny things, tristan is a crow, tristan whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: A collection of small stories with inspiration taken from the Whumptober 2020 challenge.Day 1. Shackled
Relationships: pre-tristan/dagonet
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948129
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	a crows eye

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I'm trying out the Whumptober challenge from Tumblr, and I'm starting out with a fandom I haven't written for in yeeaars. We'll see where this will go.
> 
> Also, Tristan is like a crow and no one can convince me otherwise. He just takes stuff several times in the movie.
> 
> And if I write more with him, he and Dagonet will be together. Or at least work towards it.

His hands are numb. So is his ass.

One would think that a lifetime spent in a saddle would keep something like that from happening, but stone trumps leather each time.

He shifts, trying to get comfortable, but it’s impossible. His arms are raised above his head, which wouldn’t normally be a problem if his feet weren’t restrained as well. Thick shackles are locked around his ankles and attached to the floor with the shortest chains in history.

At least he can stretch his legs out. Small mercies. Something the Romans aren’t known for, at least not in his experience. And he has close to ten years by now.

He leans his head back against the cold wall, hoping it will ease the pain he feels in… well, everywhere. The beating they gave him was thorough. His jaw aches, and his eye might have swelled up, judging from what little he can see. That can, of course, be because of the darkness of the cell. Aside from that, he’s pretty sure there’s something wrong with his ribs.

He hopes there’s not another mission on the horizon. In this state, he’ll barely be able to lift his sword. The Woads will hack him to pieces.

If the Romans doesn’t finish the job first.

He doesn’t mind facing death, but the thought of dying by a Roman sword leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He wants to die outside of the Wall. Away from the Romans and their backstabbing society. He wants to die out there, preferably with a sword in his hands and blood pumping through his veins. Not in a cell, or with his hands bound on his back.

The sound of a door being thrown open echoes out through the cells and jars him out of his thoughts. He lifts his head and stares at the door. Someone is coming, walking down the hallway in a hurry. This is it then. They’re coming for him. He prepares himself for more pain.

But when the door opens, it’s not the Romans. At least not those he hates.

Arthur Castus steps into the cell.

He’s wearing his armor, and his cloak is mud-splattered. As are his boots. He looks like the thunderclouds rolling across the plains these days, dark and dangerous.

“Tristan,” he greets, voice a barely contained growl.

“Back early,” Tristan says.

Arthur narrows his eyes at him. “I received a message that one of my knights were imprisoned for theft.”

Tristan snorts. Yeah, that sounds like something the Romans would claim. “Didn’t steal.”

“I know. I talked to the general,” says Arthur and steps deeper into the cell. “A ring, Tristan. Really? Must you pick up everything that shines?”

He shrugs. “It _was_ on the ground.”

Arthur doesn’t answer that. The look he gives Tristan says enough. He then turns towards the door. “Dagonet.”

The other knight steps in, tall and broad-shouldered, and with an expression made of stone. His eyes fall on Tristan’s bruised face and narrows. A shiver runs down Tristan’s spine.

Someone will pay for this; he’s just not sure if it will be him or the Romans.

“Get him to the Medicus,” says Arthus and leaves the cell with his cloak floating behind him. Dagonet doesn’t hesitate. He kneels beside Tristan and digs a key out from his pocket. Tristan’s arms are like lumps of flesh when they’re released, and he knows he’s in for a painful few minutes when the blood rushes back towards his fingers.

He ignores it thought, instead eyeing Dagonet, who frowns a bit as the shackle around Tristan’s left ankle remains stubbornly locked.

“You send word to Arthur?” Tristan asks. Dagonet nods.

“Lancelot went to get him,” is Dagonet’s short answer. Meaning, Dagonet didn’t want to leave Tristan.

He’s grateful, but it also means he owes not only Dagonet but also Lancelot. And he hates being in debt to Lancelot. The bastard is too clever and always finds the most painful or humiliating way to be repaid.

The lock finally clicks, and the shackle springs open. He unlocks the other one, and Tristan is finally free.

He has to rely on Dagonet to get up since every part of his body is either numb or throbbing with pain. It doesn’t seem to bother the other man, whose strength is equal to that of five.

With Dagonet’s arm around his middle, Tristan slowly walks towards the door. When they step out of the prison, and Tristan can breathe the fresh air, he feels his strength leave him, and he almost falls.

Dagonet’s hold on him tightens and saved from falling on his face right in front of the Roman guards.

“Thanks,” he says.

Dagonet merely hums. Tristan watches him out of the corner of his eyes. 

He doesn’t mind owing Dagonet, and he doesn’t mind repaying him. But he knows Dagonet will never demand anything from him.

He almost wishes he would.


End file.
